


River on the Run

by butterflybaby91



Series: It's History to Me [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-29 03:19:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflybaby91/pseuds/butterflybaby91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eponine and Enjolras find they have something in common</p>
            </blockquote>





	River on the Run

 

She hears feet pounding the pavement behind her. Eponine whirls around mid step to watch Enjolras breeze past her with a casual wave. She grumbles “Showoff,” under her breath, but he was already too far away to hear her. Of course she knows Enjolras sometimes ran, she pretty much knows everything about everyone in their little family. _But gosh_ , she thought, _does he have to be good at everything he does_. Eponine was known as the runner in the group. She loves everything about running. She loves feeling the wind pushing against her, sometimes almost burning her face. She loves pushing her body beyond its limits and feeling drained and sweaty, but powerful at the end of her run. She loves feeling the flames in her lungs and legs as she forces herself to do yet another mile. Running was her escape—her time to think. She could face anything—her father’s torments, Marius’ rejection, her struggles to make ends meet—anything as long as she could run. Preventing her from the physical activity she loves would be the worst kind of torture.

            Not that she is any good at running—she plods along as she goes, and compared to Enjolras she was a snail. If it had been anyone besides Enjolras who had seen her while she was on her run she would have been slightly embarrassed. She looks _terrible_ while running. Her face is red and shiny; her hair looks ridiculous pulled into a tight pony and slightly matted from sweat. She does not have any fancy workout clothes. Usually she wears a baggy pair of old shorts she had swiped from Courfeyrac and a too big t-shirt that she thinks used to be Grantaire’s.

            Enjolras, of course, never looks anything less than perfect, even when he is speeding by on what had to be a long run considering the fact that he lives fairly far away from where he passes her. His face is not red, he does not look out of breath, and his perfect blond curls nicely hides sweat as they bounced softly behind him. The only way she can tell he is exerting himself at all is by the circular stain on the small of his back.  

            Right now though, her pride is hurt by Enjolras so clearly besting her at the only thing that is really _hers._ Even though she knows no one else saw him pass her and she knows he would never mention it to anyone. Still, she feels wounded.

            She also feels ridiculously tired. She usually runs a loop from her home and back, but today she ran a little farther before turning around. Now as she is nearing her house, she sees it looming in the distance, so she slows her pace to a walk, trying to get her breathing under control and slow her racing heart. She picks her ego up and tries to forget about being outdone.

            The next day, she gets to the café Musain, where their whole group tries to meet up for lunch every day, to see that the only other person there is Enjolras. Eponine still feels a twinge of embarrassment at her pathetic attempts at running—she usually boasts to her friends about how often she runs and how far, but now Enjolras will know she was stretching the truth a bit—or at least not telling the whole truth because she does run often and far, but not quickly. Even in the brief seconds it took for Enjolras to pass her surely he will have noticed how slow she was.

            Reluctantly, she slides into the seat next to him. Enjolras looks over at her and smiles which she tries to return, but it ends up being more of a grimace with a slight eye roll. He does not seem to notice and goes back to reading the textbook he has situated on his lap. Eponine knows he will probably continue reading until more of their friends arrive, so she likewise pulls out some homework and starts to glance over it.

            To her side, Eponine thinks she hears Enjolras say something; she looks at him questioningly and he quietly asks, “Do you always run down that road in the afternoons?”

            Eponine is sure her face betrays her confusion at his question but she nods and replies, “Well I try to run when I get out of class around three most afternoons. I usually go about four miles, but yesterday I went slightly farther,” she cannot help but add as she curses herself for still sounding like a braggart even after he knows she is a dreadful runner.

            He does not comment on the additional information she provides and only says, “I see. That’s probably good for you. It’s good to exercise,” he smiles and smirks, “Most of our friends probably don’t exercise enough—I’d _love_ to see some of them try to run a mile, much less four”

            This statement puts the image of Courfeyrac, who is good at swimming, but not good at much on land, or little Jehan, with his floral skinny jeans and braids, trying to run. Eponine chuckles and sees Enjolras smiling too. The visual makes her feel a little bit better—she could probably run circles around some of their friends. “I love it,” she almost whispers, “It’s the only time I get where I can just be.”

            Enjolras is nodding, “I completely agree with you. I don’t run nearly enough, but when I do, it’s such a release—a break from all the stress.” Eponine is slightly shocked at Enjolras’ admission. She had assumed that the boy, who has one too many majors, and is involved in more activities than there are days in the week, would be abnormally stressed out. But, except for the occasional blow up when Grantaire had pushed him too far, Enjolras always seems to handle everything remarkably well. That he had admitted to her that sometimes everything could be too much kind of scared her—she was not used to seeing him vulnerable.

Before she can respond however, more of their friends come barging into the café and Enjolras’ attention is diverted, so she does not have to think of a response, which is good because, for once Eponine Thenardier is pretty sure she is at a loss for words.

            That afternoon, she is leaving her house, dressed for her run, when she sees Enjolras stretching at the end of her driveway. Noting that he is also wearing running clothes, she walks up to him and when he catches her staring at him she gives him an inquisitive look, which he counters with a smile. He shrugs and tells her, “I thought we could run together today.”

            Eponine laughs and retorts, “Didn’t you see me run yesterday?” Enjolras looks confused so she clarifies for him, “I’m slower than dirt. I would just hold you back.”

            He shakes his head, “You just need a training partner. Plus I don’t care; it might be nice to have some company.” He is smiling at her again and Eponine finds she cannot refuse him so she just bobs her head and starts running off down the road. Enjolras quickly catches up to her and they fall into a steady rhythm that has Eponine pushing herself harder than usual and probably has Enjolras holding back, but he does not complain.

            That rhythm runs into a habit that sees the pair running together regularly and Eponine wonders at the marvel of how two anxious souls have been unfettered through the methodical drum of rubber on asphalt.   


End file.
